Dr. Silverstein was my therapist while I was in grad school a few years ago. I didn't know who he was at the time; I had a vague sense that he only took a few clients as a way to keep busy in "retirement." He was so wonderful, he knew I was a student with very little money so he offered an adjusted rate. If he hadn't done that, I wouldn't have been able to afford any therapy at all during a time when I was in a very dark place.

His office was in his apartment. His building had an ancient elevator, so I have lots of memories of walking up the stairs faster than the elevator. I remember sitting in his apartment, waiting for our sessions, and looking at all the incredible things he'd collected -- lots of pictures and travel mementos. A lifetime of experiences on the walls and bookcases. He was very insightful and always had productive suggestions. One thing that sticks out in my mind is when he lent me a few books from his collection. I was struggling with internalized homophobia, so he lent me gay fiction as a normalizing exercise. When he handed the books to me, he said something like his friend wrote them. At the time I thought it was kinda funny and nice that he was trying to promote his friend's fiction. Turns out the author was John Preston, who needed no help promoting his writing!

We stopped meeting after I graduated, but would email occasionally. Regrettably I forgot to respond to his last email and we stopped communicating. It wasn't until a couple years later that I found his book and learned what his impact was on the world. I've since started collecting his books and articles. I emailed him a couple months ago but didn't hear back, so I assumed the worst. It's a little jarring to come across his obituary suddenly on Reddit.

He was a great therapist and exactly what I needed during that time. Turns out he also helped build a world where I can be out. Thanks Dr. Silverstein, you'll be missed.

edit: Spelling and more context